


there's no place like home (for the holidays)

by calicovirus



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicovirus/pseuds/calicovirus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper is home for Christmas, and everywhere she turns people are being ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's no place like home (for the holidays)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Good Omens Exchange on livejournal as a gift for LJ user possibly_thrice (I don't know your AO3 username, sorry!). The original prompt was: "I'd like to see the Them as thirty-somethings or older, whether that's "the Them making it as more-or-less sober and rational adults" or "the Them are now international spies." Or somewhere in-between. Pairing-wise, anything will suit, but I'm partial to Pepper/Adam and Pepper/War." I hope it fit!

Dinner is a complicated affair at the moment. With the whole lot of them staying in Pepper's mum's house—that's Pepper, her mum, her sister Emma, Emma's husband Aziz, and their young daughter—her childhood home seems smaller than ever. No one feels like cooking, which is basically the usual state of things, so the general consensus is that takeaway is in order. Mum wants curry from the curry shop around the corner, Aziz refuses on the grounds that nothing tastes as good as what _his_ mum makes, little Stella keeps saying "chicken" loudly although no one has managed to get her to explain what exactly she means by "chicken", and Emma wants barbeque pork. Pepper doesn't care—she just wants food, whatever form it happens to take.

They give in and decide on Chinese, in the end. Mum doesn't feel like paying for delivery, especially so close to Christmas, so Pepper gets sent out with a list of numbers and orders. She's squinting at the list, attempting to determine if the fourth item on the list read combo 8 or combo 3, and she shoves open the door and there he is.

The flickering fluorescent lighting of the takeaway doesn't make him look some kind of golden god, but he does look disgustingly good. She debates turning around and telling her fam that the shop was closed, but then they'd never get dinner and it smells really, really good in here.

She makes a beeline right for the register, ignoring the slightly stunned way Adam is staring at her. He stares at her the entire time it takes for her to order (she ordered a combo 3, if it was an eight the loops would touch, right?). It's disconcerting, but that's Adam for you.

"Hi," he says, once she has no excuse to avoid talking to him. "How's things?"

"Fine."

"You home for the holidays, then?"

"Yep."

He stops. It's quiet, and desperately awkward, and it hits Pepper how unbelievably stupid it is that she has looked rapists and murderers and criminals in the eyes and yet she can't bring herself to look at him lest she punch him and probably sprain her wrist.

"I'm down to see my parents, and Sarah," Adam forges on. "I mean I've got a lot of case law to read since that blasted Sheehan case goes to trial in the new year, but I mean it's the holidays, you've got to take a little time off."

"You better not fuck that one up," she replies. "It took us ages to get good solid evidence on that bastard. If it ends up like—well poor Lyn Forster has to live the rest of her life knowing that Johnson and the others are still out there, and that's your fault, Adam."

Adam frowns. "I'm sorry about that. I wasn't even the lead prosecutor, and you know it."

She sighs and drags a hand through her short hair. "I know."

They fall into silence. It's more awkward than it should be, and Pepper kicks herself for bringing that up again.

"How about you, then? You down to see your family too?" Adam asks, fiddling with the packets of soy sauce on the counter.

"What do you think?" she mutters. "Of course I am, yeah. Emma gets all weird about having proper Christmases now that Stella's around, so I've been coerced into staying the week instead of just the night."

"Ahh, mothers," he says knowingly. "Mum's getting terrible. Spoils Sarah's three something awful, and keeps going on about how it'd be good for them to have some cousins. Never mind that I'm pretty sure they _have_ cousins, on their father's side."

He's smiling now, and the cheap little fairy lights hanging in the shop window make his eyes twinkle. Pepper stares at him, feeling stupid and sixteen and still capable of being disarmed by his looks even all these years later. Thankfully the cashier calls his order number, and Adam starts helping her pack all the boxes into a brown paper bag.

"We should—go for a coffee sometime," she blurts out. "Catch up or something. It's been a while, and if you’re going to be working in London again we've no excuse not to."

"Yeah, sounds good," he replies, nodding his head a little. He picks up his bag and heads out the door. "Give me a call when you can get away, yeah?"

She gives him a little wave. The miniature sleigh bells taped to the door frame jingle as he leaves.

—

Emma practically jumps on her the moment she gets home, seizing the food and bringing it into the kitchen. Aziz and Mum are entertaining Stella at the kitchen table using the stupid sheep-shaped salt shakers Gran had given her years ago. Stella seems to find it entertaining enough, clapping and making noises that are probably supposed to be sheep noises.

They get the food portioned out eventually. Pepper has to drag in a chair from Mum's crafting room (formerly her childhood bedroom), but there's room enough for all of them even if it's a little cramped.

"Guess who I ran into while I was out?" Pepper says, between forkfuls of rice.

"If it was Mister Tyler, I hope you told him that I am going to have _words_ with him," replies Mum darkly. "I don't care what he thinks, I am perfectly within my rights to keep ducks in my yard, Tadfield doesn't have any kinds of laws saying I can't."

Emma rolls her eyes over her pork. Pepper smiles a bit—poor Emma, who lives much closer than Pepper, has put up with Mum versus Mr. Tyler for months, and clearly even she's growing a little sick of it.

"No, Mum," says Pepper. "It was Adam, actually. Bit weird, really."

"It's not weird, his parents live less than a mile away," Emma mutters. "He's got every right to be here, same as you."

Pepper spears a slice of bok choy on her fork. "Alright, fine. But it _is_ weird seeing him out of court."

"I still can't believe he managed that," says Mum. "Your Adam, a big city lawyer? I'd never have thought."

"He's not _my_ Adam," Pepper grumbles. Mum shrugs. Emma and Aziz sharing a knowing look, and Pepper debates the maturity of throwing pieces of pineapple at them. They had all collectively been very ridiculous since Pepper had first let slip that Adam was working for the Crown Prosecution Service in London rather than in Oxford.* She stares down at her sweet and sour pork. She hated to admit it, but secretly there was a part of her that thought they, stupid matchmakers thought they were, might have it right. Or hoped they did.

" _Anyway,_ " says Pepper, deciding that she would spare them all her pineapple wrath for the moment. "He said we might go have a coffee sometime. Since we're colleagues now, sort of."

Emma leans over and pats her on the back. "Good job, Pepper. Use all your wiles, feminine and otherwise."

"Good job Pepper," Stella repeats through a mouthful of noodle.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Aziz tells her, and she smiles devilishly before spitting it all out on her plate.

Pepper grimaces. "That's disgusting."

 

***** (The conversation had gone something like this:   
"It's very attractive, being a lawyer," said Pepper's mum. "Very determined people."   
"Lots of money, too," said Emma. "I bet he's got an awfully nice car."   
"It would be such a lovely complement to your job," said Pepper's mum. "You both care about justice, you know, that's a good starting point for a relationship."   
"And he was your best friend as a kid, he's got that boy next door thing going on," said Emma.   
"He looks stupid in a wig," Pepper told them. "And I _have_ a nice car."   
"No, you don't," said Pepper's mum. "There's tape over one of the front headlights.")

—

 

The next day is relatively quiet. Emma and Aziz and Stella have gone off to the recently-built playground, next to the recently-renovated primary school so that Stella gets in her daily allotment of what Emma once called "key social development". Mum has a sandwich board and a car full of leaflets and intends to spend the morning lobbying door to door in support of amateur duck fanciers everywhere.

Pepper, meanwhile, spends an hour flipping channels, but there's nothing interesting on except terrible Christmas movies and she is feeling nowhere near festive enough for that. She ought to go to Lidl, since there's nothing but leftovers and sandwich meat in the fridge, so she gathers her things and heads out.

Luckily Mum and Emma had left her a list. She's nearly finished it when she runs into Adam, or rather, Adam runs into her while she's staring at spaghetti squash.

"Are you following me or something?" she asks. "I mean, I understand that Tadfield is tiny, but this is a bit ridiculous."

Adam shrugs. "It's like you said—Tadfield _is_ tiny. There's not that many other places for me to be, especially two days before Christmas."

"Shouldn't you be shopping for Sarah's kids or something?" she says. She doesn't even know if Emma likes spaghetti squash. It'd be good for Stella though, all kids like spaghetti. Or at least things covered in spaghetti sauce.

"Done already." Adam grins. "I was given a list."

Pepper thinks of Stella and last night's noodles, and puts the squash back with the others. Probably not a good idea.

"That's not very creative," she tells him.

Adam shrugs. "Sarah doesn't like not knowing what the kids are getting. I think she's afraid I'll get them a puppy, or water pistols, or something."

Pepper laughs. "You would, though."

"I would, yeah."

Someone coughs. A harried-looking woman with an empty cart and Things to Do is standing behind Adam, and he mutters an apology and smiles sheepishly as he moves his cart out of the way. Pepper wants to stay and talk, she really does—it's nice not talking about work—but he begs off.

"Look—you're almost done, and I'm sure you've got a full schedule," he tells her. "But I'm free tomorrow—properly free—at least for a few hours. Are you…?"

"Yeah," she replies. "I've got nothing on. We could go to the café in town."

"Good." He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Tomorrow. What time, one, two? We could make it a lunch, spare us both from leftovers."

"One is fine, yeah," Pepper says. "I'll see you then."

—

 

Emma and her family are home when Pepper gets back, and Aziz insists on carrying all the shopping in. ("He likes rewarding initiative," Emma tells her. "Is this because he's a dog trainer?" Pepper asks, and is rewarded with a slap.) As it is, Pepper gets to sit in the kitchen with a cup of tea and watch the pair of them bicker over fridge organization, which is soothing in its own way.

"The meat goes on the top shelf, that's where it's always gone," Emma tells him, but he's shaking his head vigorously.

"That's unsanitary! It should go on the bottom, in the drawers. You don't want bacteria dripping down onto the veg, do you?"

"It's getting cooked anyway, what does it matter?"

Aziz grumbles, "It's not _all_ getting cooked, the lettuce is for salads, and lettuce already has the highest contamination rate. What if you get e. coli?" *****

"It'll ruin Christmas," Emma says solemnly, and they both start laughing.

The rest of the day passes in a sort of festive haze. She helps Stella decorate the gingerbread Mum had brought home—well, Pepper decorates and Stella smears icing all over everything—while Emma wraps her presents, and later they watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on telly and Emma and Pepper teach Stella to sing along, much to Aziz's chagrin. It's nice in the way Christmases haven't been for a while; last year Pepper was busy with those cashpoint robberies, and the year before Stella was a screaming infant. But this year—even though it's only the 22nd—it looks as if it might be a good one after all.

 

***** This is true. Aziz is very up-to-date on public health recommendations. Incidentally, the fast food item that causes the most cases of food poisoning is not lettuce but rice.

—

 

The café's not far, so she decides to walk over. About halfway there, she starts to regret it; it's cold, and there's more ice one the ground than she expected. She picks her way carefully across the pavement, and manages no more than momentary unsteadiness. The café is busier than usual, what with school out for the holidays and what few university students Tadfield has back as well. Pepper manages to snag a nice spot near the window, and decides to wait on ordering until Adam shows up—he's always had problems arriving on time for anything, and she doubts he's changed all that much since they were in university together.

She spends ten minutes playing a game on her phone and losing terribly. It's only by chance that she looks up in time to catch the best thing she has seen all week: Adam, stepping on the wrong patch of pavement and going sprawling, landing on his arse with an undignified screech. She shoves her phone in her pocket and rushes out the door to help him up, laughing the whole time, but he's up and dusting himself off before she gets there.

"I was hoping you didn't see that," Adam says ruefully. "I look a right twat."

Pepper tries to stifle her cackling but she's failing miserably. "That you do, Adam Young. Here, take my arm. We don’t want you slipping again, you delicate flower."

He frowns, all affronted masculinity, but takes her arm anyway and lets himself be guided into the café. She sits him down at the table with exaggerated care, and him rolling his eyes the whole time.

"Yes, thank you, Pep, I get the point," he mutters. "I am clearly incapable of taking care of myself or controlling my own limbs."

"That's precisely it," Pepper grins. "What do you want? Since I doubt your ability to safely traverse the six metres between this table and the counter I am simply going to have to order for you."

Adam raises an eyebrow as he pulls off his wooly hat and gloves. "Are you paying, is that how this is going to go, then?"

"Nope. Mum says lawyers get paid big money, says you probably have a fancy car and everything."

He snorts. "Yeah, big money that goes right back into loans."

"Ooh, irresponsible spender are you? I'm not sure about that," Pepper tells him. "Tea, coffee, cocoa?"

"I'm very responsible. They're responsible adult loans, not coke and hookers loans," Adam tells her, all serious for a few seconds before he starts smiling his boyish smile. "Cocoa. Extra whipped cream."

Despite the line, it only takes a few minutes for her to return. She passes Adam his cocoa as she sits down. Her own drink is what Tadfield's only café calls a Christmas cappuccino, although she's a little wary of it.

"How's it?" she asks him. There's whipped cream on his nose.

"What, my drink or my arse? They're both fine, thank you very much."

"You're terrible."

"I am."

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, nothing passing between them except slurping and Adam skimming the rest of the whipped cream off his drink with a teaspoon.

"Brian's farming now, if you hadn't heard," Adam says after the last of the cream has been devoured.

"Yeah, I did. He made me like his Facebook page, too, you know," she says. The cappuccino isn't bad, flavoured with cinnamon and nutmeg and maybe a little orange.

"Never took him for the farmer type, is all."

"Never took _you_ for the lawyer type. Mum can't stop going on about it," Pepper tells him. "I don't know why, I mean me and Emma both got degrees so I don't know why she's so impressed."

"It's the wig," Adam informs her. "Women love the wig."

"Oh God," moans Pepper. "The first time I saw you in that thing I almost had to ask for a recess, there was no way I was going to be able keep a straight face in court with you sitting there."

"It's dignified. It's a symbol of the office."

"It's stupid, that's what. Especially on you. All that hair sticking out from under it."

"No respect," Adam mutters, taking a long slurp. "Coppers these days, think they should have jurisdiction…"

Pepper laughs. "We do all the work, anyway."

"Yeah," says Adam. "In stupid hats."

"Hey, that's not fair. I haven't worn one of those hats in _years_ ," she objects. "And anyway they're _tradition._ "

"So are the wigs."

"Fine, fine, you've made your point."

It's a long, lovely afternoon. They bicker while they finish their drinks, and then they get more, and a plate of ginger biscuits with icing in fat swirls. Pepper tells Adam about helping Stella yesterday, and he laughs and tells her about Sarah banning him from the kitchen after convincing Sarah's two boys that re-enacting scenes from Star Wars in gingerbread was a terrific idea, and the two boys chose the scene where Luke loses his hand. Adam got in trouble, of course, because the reality is that he is a terrible enabler; Pepper isn't sure she'd have him any other way, even knowing that he's the reason she nearly got arrested that one time in university, because he is wickedly fun when he wants to be and she is trying rather determinedly to ignore the parts of her that are thinking oh, he's a grown man now, he is, I bet he's wickedly fun at certain other things, too…

Adam insists on walking her home, despite Pepper complaining loudly about 1) her family being obnoxious, and 2) Adam probably breaking a hip in the process—"If anything, I should be walking _you_ home, you're clearly unfit to look after yourself." But part of her is loath to leave his company. She hadn't realized how much she missed him, in the years since they drifted apart. In her memory he was just this…this smug spotty twenty year old still, on his third degree choice and unable to make any kind of decision about anything. Being his friend back then had felt like being a kid all the time, like being Fightin Pep who made Greasy Johnson lose his first teeth, like sitting on milk crates in the quarry and waiting for Adam to tell them all what they were going to do that day. Getting the job at the Met had been great—so great—and even if she spent the better part of her time wrestling drunks back then, it had felt better and more useful than waiting for Adam to make up his mind.

She makes him stop at the top of her street.

"Look—if Mum and the rest of them see you, I'll never hear the end of it," she says.

"What if I don't want you to hear the end of me?" Adam asks, leaning casually against the brick wall on the corner.

"Then I won't want to see you again."

Adam puts a hand over his heart. "That would be _terrible_. I'm not sure I'd ever recover."

"I'd tell everyone in court about that time in second year the next time I'm in the witness box," she vows.

"You're evil," he says. "That's blackmail, and you an officer of the law!"

"You're the one who decided blue body paint was a really good idea," she reminds him.

"It was _performance art."_

"It was potential blackmail, and I have photographic evidence."

"That you do," he admits.

"Anyway—um. It's been fun seeing you again," Pepper says, fiddling with the strap of her purse. "Outside of work, that is."

Adam makes a noise of agreement. "Maybe we could do it again."

He smiles, and Pepper groans internally. She is a grown woman, she is. A grown woman who apparently has designs on her childhood best friend, and is mature and adult enough to admit that…might not be a bad thing, even if her family would never stop, ever.

"Maybe we could," she says. He's giving her a considering look, like he's surprised at her answer, but then they both know it was Pepper who moved away and stopped calling, not Adam. "I'll call you."

"Will you?" he says.

She thinks for a moment. About good Christmases, and a new year, and maybe someone to put the kettle on for her when she's up late at night trying to hammer disparate facts into a workable theory. About how happy Emma and Aziz are, and how Stella's not as disgusting as Pepper thought a toddler might be, and Mum's ducks, and hot cocoa.

"Yes," she says at last. "I promise."

"Good." He's still smiling, but differently now. He leans over, and before Pepper can really process it, he's pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Happy Christmas, Pep."


End file.
